


all the gods, old and new

by Fatale (femme)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, General Sacrilege, Happy Ending, M/M, alec is a god, i know wtf, magnus is a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: Magnus has been around the block a few times. He’s seen civilizations come and go. But this new one, this Twitter generation, is something else entirely.And ushering in the host of new gods --online dating infatuation, dumbass memes, netspeak -- is none other than Alec, a tall drink of water with a surly disposition directly at odds with his I Can Haz Cheezburger humble beginnings.---au: Alec and Magnus are gods for a new generation.





	all the gods, old and new

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I am sorry for this. This is just something I dumped from my brain after getting a random idea last night. It kind of rips off American Gods, but I have neither read the book nor seen the show, so I'm not entirely sure how badly I'm ripping it off or what I'm getting wrong. Please don't yell at me for fucking up the mythology I am admitting outright I have no clue about.

 

  
Magnus has been around the block a few times. He’s seen civilizations come and go. But this new one, this Twitter generation, is something else entirely.

And ushering in the host of new gods --online dating infatuation, dumbass memes, netspeak -- is none other than Alec, a tall drink of water with a surly disposition directly at odds with his I Can Haz Cheezburger humble beginnings.

Magnus turns on the TV and focuses his mind, muttering a small prayer to Alec and flipping the channels until Alec’s handsome scowling face appears.

“Ah,” Magnus says, “I’ve been looking for you.” He’s been thinking about Alec a shameful amount since he was visiting an old temple sometime around the last turn of the century. He was glaring at a gum-snapping teenager watching Funny Or Die vids when he caught his first glimpse of Alec standing nearby, chuckling softly.

Ever since then, he’s been struggling to catch up with new age, trawling Reddit forums, tweetering and tumbling long into the night, searching for Alec. He left messages on every forum he could find and sometimes Alec replied and sometimes he didn’t.

Some folks might ungenerously call it stalking.

Little did he know how easy it was to score a face to face meeting. Once it was explained to him by Ragnor, who was rolling his eyes and making up another dead ancient language to confuse humans, Magnus felt particularly stupid.

“Sure, bruh,” Alec says flatly from the TV, looking bored. He keeps glancing down at his phone and texting one-handed, fingers flying over the touch keypad without even looking.

He’s probably tweetering right this moment, Magnus thinks.

“How about we go for dinner somewhere? My treat. I’ll spring for the very best -- champagne, caviar, subscriptions to any streaming services you want.”

Alec hesitates. For whatever reason, the newer gods don’t have much respect for the older ones. Something about being boring, staid, demanding human sacrifice, blah blah. It’s been a long time since Magnus has required actual blood rituals and he thinks that shows great personal growth.

“I guess I could,” Alec finally says.

“Outstanding,” Magnus says with a grand, elaborate gesture.

Truthfully, Magnus doesn’t know why he’s so focused on Alec, other than he’s intriguing, new, and deeply unimpressed by Magnus. As it turns out, when you live forever and humans no longer fight to the death for your amusement, life can get boring and predictable. There’s only so much porn to inspire and wine to drink.

Magnus arranges himself on the couch and regales Alec with a tales of Roman erotic frescos, frets a bit about their general state of decomposition.

Alec mostly nods along, intermittently glancing down at his phone, and says, “Cool Story, bro,” once and throws Magnus off track mid-way through a story of inspiring Vatsyayana to write the Kama Sutra. Magnus coughs, a bit embarrassed to be caught out; nothing convinces the youth you’re also a hip young thing quite like rhapsodizing about centuries past.

“Uh, anyway,” Magnus says, “two days from now? In Central Park?” His loins are tingling a bit just talking about eroticism, mixed in with the prospect of seeing Alec in person, and it’s almost too much to bear. He’s going to have to inspire a city-wide orgy to work off some of the excess energy.

“That’s cool,” Alec says.

“See you then,” Magnus says brightly, hoping Alec’s answer was agreement. He's not entirely sure.

“Laters,” Alec says and the TV shuts off, leaving a blank screen and Magnus twitching in his empty living room alone.

 

\---

 

Magnus chooses his outfit carefully: all black, sleek lines. Though he regularly mourns the passing of puffy sleeves from fashion, this isn’t bad either. He unbuttons his shirt nearly to his navel and adds another gold chain for good measure. If he can’t win Alec’s love fair and square, he might as well blind him with bling.

Rather than hail a cab, he walks the two blocks to Central Park and waits beneath an enormous oak. It’s early evening and the park is full of families talking, playing, laughing, mostly on their cell phones. Magnus frowns.

Speaking of--Alec strolls up, white earbuds in, smiling at something he’s watching on his phone.

His baseball cap is tilted at an odd angle, his t-shirt is wrinkled, and his jeans have decorative holes in them. Alec is every inch the god of disaffection, the millennials, generation z.

Magnus reaches down and fastens a couple buttons anxiously. Despite the atrocious attire that apparently passes for a proper date outfit, Magnus is overjoyed to see Alec. It’s not been a long time, certainly not long to an immortal, but it’s enough that Magnus has forgotten the exact shade of Alec’s lovely hazel eyes, the exact slope of his shoulders, the grudging way his mouth quirks when he’s amused. Magnus has never heard Alec laugh out loud, but he bets it’s glorious. He probably says, “LOL,” instead of laughing, though.

“Alexander,” Magnus practically purrs.

“Hello,” Alec mumbles distractedly.

“Could you--could you possibly put away the phone?” Magnus says, feeling slightly disheartened. Magnus has a cell phone of course, but he mostly uses it as a doorstop. He picked it up in the early 90’s when he had a sneaking suspicion phone to phone contact was going to be a big thing.

“Huh?” Alec asks, looking up from the screen for the first time this evening.

“There now,” Magnus says, satisfied for the moment. It’s a rare feeling -- he lives in a constant haze of dissatisfaction and insatiable desire. There might be some truth to the tales of the old capricious gods.

Alec turns the screen off and slips the phone into his pocket. “What did you want me to see?”

“The world?” Magnus tries.

Alec pulls his hat off and rakes a hand through his wild, dark hair. “Well, here it is, I guess,” he says, scanning the park. His fingers twitch towards his pocket.

Magnus hates to do this, he really does, but he can’t stay silent. “In my day, we didn’t have cell phones or dating apps or the Tweeters. If we wanted to meet someone, we had to leave the house.”

Alec looks offended. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Magnus allows and barely keeps from swooning. It’s been a long time since he’s been this excited. He takes in Alec’s t-shirt with the name of a 70's band splashed across the front and his battered Chuck Taylors. “So, memes? Really? That's what you want to do with your power?”

It’s an ungenerous thought, one that he regrets speaking aloud as soon as the words leave his lips. There was a time before the written word became, well, written, when the old gods like Chaos and Gaia still existed and they had scoffed at Magnus, too.

“Weren’t you some kind of goat-fucker?” Alec asks mildly. “That’s what Jace told me.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus yells, outraged. “I never--that wasn’t something that--okay, yes, that happened, but it wasn’t me.” He knows this Jace, impulsive and vain, and mentally crosses him off his list. He’s not getting a boner for a _century_.

Once his outrage settles some, Magnus looks at Alec carefully. “If you thought I was a goat-fucker, why did you agree to go out with me?”

He blinks and Magnus watches, fascinated, as red creeps up Alec’s neck to his cheeks. “This is a date? Like, a romantic date?”

“I asked you to dinner!” Magnus says, flabbergasted. How had he misread the situation so wrong? This is more embarrassing than the time he showed up at an erotic retelling of Oedipus Rex and realized he should have asked what the play was about first.

“I-I didn’t--” Alec stammers, ears bright red. It’s fascinating to watch. The normally stoic, confident man in front of him is totally disarmed, stumbling over words. “I’ve never--”

It occurs to Magnus that Alec has never seen dating outside of apps, has never flirted outside of the pithy 140 character limit of the Tweeters, possibly spends all his time snickering at memes on Tumblr, and rating videos on YouTube. He’s a baby in every way that counts.

It’s an honor to show him what the world is about.

“We could go for a walk,” Magnus suggests, holding out his hand. “See the city before going to dinner.” They don’t have to, but Magnus enjoys the ritual of meals and doubts Alec’s ever tried anything besides Funyuns, Cheetos, Red Bull, and lattes from coffee shops with ironically mismatched chairs.

“Sure,” Alec says and curls his hand around Magnus’, looking a little lost.

They walk a few blocks in silence, watching humans pass until they stop in front of a small gallery. Alec studies the large painting in the window, the bright contemporary colors a swirl of imagination, a beautiful dream brought to life. Magnus leans close to Alec. “Ever seen anything like that on the Tweetters?”

“I’ve seen some pretty funny jokes about Michelangelo’s masculine ladies,” Alec says, then sheepishly admits, “but no, I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

“There’s a world of art like this off the internet,” Magnus says. “A real life that you could be part of.”

“The internet is real life,” Alec tells him. Still, his eyes are greedily raking in every detail about the painting in front of him. “Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. People meet the loves of their lives online, create funny jokes and share them with others. They find each other across the world, a small connection that sparks a lifelong friendship, they organize rallies and comfort strangers. It’s joy and information and communication for a new age.”

“Maybe,” Magnus allows, surprised. He’d never thought of it like that before. It’s possible the internet and media have something positive to give the world: after all, they gave him Alec.

Magnus and Alec aren’t gods, exactly. Ghosts would be just as apt but far less flattering. They’re more beings born out of collective belief, the shared consciousness of mankind made manifest. They guide humans but never directly interfere, and they have faded from the spotlight as people believe in _things_ , but not gods anymore. Humanity believes in the power of movie stars, internet fame, and YouTube gurus. Social Media Influences hold far more power now than the old gods ever did.

And creatures like him and Alec? They’re keeping pace at the fringes of society, moving people forward towards wherever their destinies may lie, regardless if it ends their own existence, all the while watching newer and younger gods take their place. It’s fine. It has to be.

Alec dips his chin, a spark of mischievousness glinting in his eye “If you‘re impressed by this, you should see 2 girls, 1 cup.”

Magnus throws back his head and laughs. He’s startled to realize he likes Alec a hell of a lot. “Kid, if you think that’s wild, I’ve got some stories to tell you.”

He checks his watch and Alec looks at it, amused like he’s never seen an analog watch before. He probably hasn’t, the absolute _infant_ , and Magnus tries not to be a little horrified. He misses sundials. “Our dinner reservation is soon. We should go if we want to make it.”

“I could eat,” Alec says. It’s a joke. Even though they don’t have to eat food, it’s fun and they might as well. It passes the time, the constant loop, the spiraling cycle of birth and rebirth.

Most don’t know it, but there are no real new gods. Just old ones recycled. Magnus turns to look at Alec, at his height, his strong profile, and something tugs at the back of his mind, an old memory long-forgotten. Many lifetimes ago, Alec might have been the god of courage, strength, and honor in battle. In the current age of wars fought by drones and computers, battles aren’t so much glorious victories as soulless massacres, no courage required and no honor involved.

Yes, Magnus thinks, it fits. After all, it certainly takes courage, honor, and strength to recede from the world when you’re no longer needed; to roll the dice and reemerge newer, stronger, and more relevant.

All the gods, old and new, are stuck in a cycle most of them can’t remember, slaves to whim and changing priorities. It beats fading away into nothing. It beats being alone.

If Magnus is stuck in this perpetual life, he might as well eat and fuck and enjoy himself while whispering encouragement into the ears of writers, artists, and musicians. Because like Alec, he makes life a little more bearable for everyone else. And that seems like a purpose worth having.

But it helps to have someone to go on that endless journey with you.

Magnus is just mostly glad he didn’t have to join a tragic dating website: Celestial being (kind of), old as time (literally), likes to drink. Single and Ready to Mingle.

Magnus reaches forward and touches Alec’s cheek, curls his hand into his dark hair, taking in the surprised doe-like sweep of Alec’s eyelashes, the familiar scrape of Alec’s stubble against his palm. He leans forward and kisses Alec, right there on the sidewalk, horns honking in the background, people yelling, busy New Yorkers rushing by while Alec and Magnus stand completely still. They’re going to be late for their reservation for sure now, but it doesn’t matter.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

 

 

 


End file.
